


Gone

by Vincent_Van_Gogh5643



Category: Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Anxiety, Hallucinations, It's Just Tylenol But It Can Still Be Really Rough For Some People To See, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Trauma, Very Light Mention of Drug Dependency
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26659471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vincent_Van_Gogh5643/pseuds/Vincent_Van_Gogh5643
Summary: Gordon Freeman, 27, single, emotionally and physically scarred, is trying to deal with the aftermath of Black Mesa; a company that no longer exists. He has enough hush money to last him a few months and his name is on a contract that forces him to keep quiet, but he’s still reeling from the experience. Dealing with phantom pains, frequent night terrors, sleep paralysis, depression, worse anxiety than usual and something new and more concerning; longing.
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to. This. REALLY PLEASE READ THE TAGS. I will be adding more as it gets deeper into what's going on in Gordon's head and what other people are noticing about him, so Please make sure to read the tags. I'll be adding content warnings at the beginning of each chapter, though, just to keep things a little organized, but please make sure to read through them. This is rated T for now, but I might change it to M if I go into deeper detail about some of Gordon's nightmares.
> 
> Also, this first chapter is really short because it's just an introduction to Kinda what the plot is going to be about. Benrey WILL be in this later, I promise. Also, this will probably be Very Long.
> 
> For the first chapter: CW for: Detailed nightmares about Black Mesa and traumatic experiences, mentions of what it might feel like to die, hallucinations, phantom pains/small mention of drug dependency (it's Tylenol), panic attacks, etc.

Black Mesa is crushing him. He can feel the way his bones are rapidly creaking and giving under the pressure. He can't figure out exactly what's crushing him- a pipe? A support beam? An entire ventilation shaft?- but the pain is too strong for him to really focus on it too much. He thinks that if he focused, he could see the blaring fluorescent lights, but the pain is too sharp, too strong, too overwhelming. He thinks he can feel himself bleeding, something running down his forehead, but he can’t see that either. He tries to struggle, but nothing happens. There is no movement other than the weight on his chest intensifying. He can’t breathe, he can’t see, he can’t even hear anything other than a faint buzz. He feels himself fade out, and realizes that he must be dying. The world seems lighter, less there. It feels great, he thinks, to just fade out. All of the pain and confusing, intense sensations completely gone, leaving him to feel more at peace than before, but his heart is still pounding out of his chest- ringing in his ears, and his head feels like it’s splitting apart. It’s overwhelming and vague at the same time, shrouded in a darkness that both suffocates him and provides him with the freshest air he’s ever breathed. He is no longer being crushed, just floating in an empty void of black.

When he wakes up, Gordon wipes the sweat off of his forehead. His nightmares have been getting more and more specific, more and more  _ real _ . The feelings stick with him in his waking moments; the feeling of his bones cracking and breaking, the feeling of the absolute void, the feeling of dying. He wants to shake it off, but it keeps edging its way toward the front of his mind. When he steps in front of the mirror on his way to the shower, he can’t help but inspect his face for any wounds; any sign that what he went through in his horrible, fucked up dream  _ did _ actually happen. He can sort of brush off the pain, the buzzing of Black Mesa, and the broken bones, considering he’s experienced all of those things in the past, but the void?

Lately, Gordon’s dreams have been focusing more on dying. He feels the sensation of nothing consuming him, and it feels too  _ real _ \- more real than anything else in his dreams, no matter how vivid the rest of them are. He thinks he needs a therapist. He thinks he needs a  _ friend _ , but all he has that even comes close is a group of scientists who went through the same fucked up things he did. He doesn’t need more of a reminder. He already feels every piece of anxiety crawl back into him every time he looks down at his missing hand.

When he steps into the shower after a long moment of just staring at his reflection, he swears he sees mixes of brown, red, and green flow down the drain. It makes panic creep back, slowly growing in his chest and in his head. His heart starts pounding, his eyes going wide.  _ Oh god, _ he thinks,  _ it’s back _ . But when he blinks, the water is clear, not even a trace of blood, alien guts, and radiation. His pulse takes several more minutes to calm down to what Gordon has deemed as acceptable, but at this point it’s probably realistically closer to a panic attack. 

He still can’t breathe, so he rushes through washing his hair, running a generous amount of conditioner through the strands, and lathering his senses with the lavender of his body wash. It calms him a little bit more, and he’ll take it, honestly. Eventually, he steps out of the shower and opens the bathroom door to let in fresher, less stuffy air and takes a deep breath. This is all daily procedure at this point, even two months after Black Mesa, but that doesn’t mean it gets any easier as the days blur together and Gordon forces himself to carry through them, routine layed out, even if he skips a step or two every now and again.

Dragging himself into his kitchen dressed in a fresh pair of clothes, which honestly, considering Gordon’s lack of a job, is just a new pair of pajamas, sweatpants and a tee shirt, wet hair left to air dry around his shoulders, soaking into cotton, he turns on the coffee pot. He’s not hungry, especially after the absolute episode he had in the shower, and the nightmare of the void, so he thinks coffee will be just fine. He runs back to the bathroom to grab some Tylenol, phantom pains leaving him fidgety, and there’s no way he’s going to be able to even grab a mug out of the cabinet if his remaining hand is shaking enough for both of them. 

The coffee helps. It burns his tongue slightly, going down harsh and bitter. He makes a face and dumps some sugar into it. No matter how many years of MIT and professionalism he endured, he still can’t drink his coffee black. It leaves a bad, cottony taste in his mouth, going down like tar, and he can’t stand it. 

He stands up from his kitchen table- creaking wood chipped and unmaintained- to fill his cup up once more, but he swears he sees something out of the corner of his eye, something sitting on his couch. He drops the mug, and it shatters over the kitchen floor. “Good job, Feetman. Can’t even hold a cup right, lame.” It’s Benrey’s voice echoing through his apartment, leaving an ache in his chest. He leans down to pick up the glass, a snarky retort on his tongue, but when he glances back at the couch, there’s no one there. There’s not even a single clue that anyone was ever there. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this is really short, but I will be updating it really soon. I already have the rough draft for the second chapter done, and I've really been into writing this lately. Please feel free to leave comments! I love reading what you have to say!


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